Rain Check,

Or,

Generally, It's Called a Kiss

Authors Note: You people are a bad influence. Very bad. Scorn to all of you. ;) I had meant for this to be a one shot, but it kept tugging at the back of my mind. Enjoy!

Anndy

Disclaimer: problem about owning snow, is it kinda melts…

Ginny stared at his retreating form, questions beginning to buzz around her head. Why had he liked her in the first place? And what did she feel for him? And how were Ron, Hermione and Harry going to react? Those were only a few that were clouding her mind as she watched the empty hall where Draco had stood not long before. She sighed and resigned herself to another week and a half to think.

Trudging back up to Gryffindor Tower, she pulled out her sewing utensils and began hemming the cloak to her height. Two hours later found her with a gorgeous smelling, newly hemmed cloak, and no revelations as to her dilemma. Stuffing her nose into the shoulder she inhaled his sent and sighed. Finally, deciding she might as well do something useful, she hung up the cloak, smoothing out the wrinkles when her hand connected with something that crackled like old paper.

Locating it in the inner pocket, she pulled out the short roll of parchment. She looked at it for several minutes before finally processing what she was seeing. It was not a note, as she had first thought. No, it was a sketch. It was just of her face, and her eyes seemed to be the main focus of the drawing. The artist (Malfoy, she presumed), had spent special detail to making her eyes look alive, and she was amazed at the quality of the drawing.

Ginny wondered, not for the first time, how deep the ferret boy's affections ran.

Groaning, she tossed herself onto the bed, closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep in the still damp clothes of the earlier romp in the snow.

~~~

Draco sighed, it was one thing to be infatuated with the youngest Weasley, it was quite another to snog her in a snow bank. The whole thing was Potter's fault. If he hadn't walked in – he frowned, thinking that day over.

He slid open the compartment door, his lackeys off harassing the food trolley woman for more treats. He threw himself into the nearest seat, brooding about the argument he had had with his mother the day before.

His thoughts were interrupted by a timid cough from across the compartment. A shock of red hair, a freckled face, and deep brown eyes stared back at him.

"What?" He snapped.

The youngest Weasel just shook her head, turning back to the book in her lap. They sat there in silence for the next twenty minutes, until the compartment door slid open again and Potter came through.

"Hey Gin." He said, eyeing Draco warily. "What are you doing here?" He snarled.

Draco looked around him, his eyes wide with mock innocence, "Sitting, Potter. There's nothing here to say I can't."

Potter let his breath out with a hiss. Draco cocked his head, "I'm sorry, Potty, can you repeat that? I don't speak snake."

He growled, "And here I thought you could, being one of them."

Draco touched a hand to his chest, feigning hurt, "I'm wounded, Potter." He said dryly. "Really, I may never recover."

"Go back under the rock you came from." Harry grumbled.

They were interrupted as Ginny snapped shut her book with a huff and stood. As she passed him to get to the door, she caught his eyes, and the emotions he saw in them confused him. Pity, concern, anger, and, of all things, understanding.

He frowned, and the compartment slid shut. Potter's fist connected with the side of his jaw, and Draco stood angrily, feeling for a break. "What the bloody hell was that for, Potty?" He spat.

"Don't look at her like she's prey, Malfoy." He growled menacingly, before stalking out of the compartment.

Stupid Potter. Stupid Potter for making him think about a Weasley. Stupid Potter for ruining his Quidditch career. Stupid, stupid Potter. He would pay.

A calculating thought sprung in his head, if he dated the littlest Weasel, Potter would hate it. And it would get that pug Pansy off him. He thought for a moment, considering the option. Maybe…No. He couldn't do it. It would break the Little Weasel's heart.

Who cares?

I do.

You don't mean anything. Malfoy's don't care about Weasley's.

This one is different.

They're all the same. The same hair. The same stupid freckles. The same family.

Draco shook his head, he wouldn't date the Weasel because it would hack off Potter. He would date the Weasel for his own reasons. The only thing standing in his way was his mother. His usually calm and collected mother had changed dramatically after his fathers death. She no longer let him get away with everything. Now she would question every motive, every flippant word, every facial expression.

He would have to convince her Ginny Weasley was worth the time. And he hoped she was worth it.